Ditto-A Ghost/Coco Crossover Chapter 2
Relationship: Hector x Imelda
Chapter Summary: Ernesto said he would move Heaven and Earth for his amigo
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Chapter 2: Heaven and Earth
Hector plodded through the hallway, hands fumbling with the his pocket. He extracted his keys, inserting them into the lock and wincing at the creaking of the hinges as he slipped through the door. How many times had he promised Imelda he would fix that? He kicked off his shoes and slid them into the closet, his jacket swiftly following. His black socked-feet made their way across the loft, placing his guitar case gently against his desk. Turning softly on his heel, he made his way to the staircase, taking care to skip the second and eighth steps. They squeaked. He reached the pile of clothes he had stashed for such an occasion, then plodded to the bathroom. He emerged a few minutes later, pajama pants on and performance clothes in hand, he made his way to his and Imelda's bedroom. He cracked open the door, his slim frame a blessing as he managed to avoid straining the hinges enough to alert a hopefully-sleeping Imelda to his presence. He was not surprised, however, when a sharp voice called from the bed,
"Do you have any idea how late it is?"
Hector sighed, dropped his clothes bundle onto a chair in the corner and made his way to the bed, bending to kiss Imelda, who was propped onto an elbow and staring at him through her hair, which fell loose around her shoulders. She watched him as he crawled into his side of the bed, and shifted to face him. He looked sheepishly up at her from his pillow, reaching up timidly to pull her closer to him.
"I know, mi amor, but Ernesto demanded an encore, and you know how he likes to celebrate afterwards-"
Imelda cut him off with an exasperated sigh, her eyeroll hidden by the darkness of the night around them.
"I swear, he has you hitting up every bar in the city! What if he got you so drunk you couldn't come home? What if you ended up being hit by a car? Caught in a drunken fight? What would Coco and I do? She needs someone here while I'm at work, and if you were gone-"
Her words stopped short when Hector's lips met hers, and despite her anger and tension, she melted. She was just glad that he was home now, safe. They parted, and moved closer to each other, reveling in the sensation of each other's warmth and presence. Hector ran his hands through her hair, breathing in the scent of leather and the perfume he had gotten her for Christmas last year. Ay, Dios, He could stay like this forever.
Neither of them knew when they fell asleep.
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Another day, another venue, and Hector wasn't sure he could distinguish between the two anymore. It seemed like every other day was the same-wake up, spend the morning in ignorant bliss with Imelda and Coco, expect Ernesto at lunch, submissively accept whatever offer was thrown his way, receive condescending and exasperated look from Imelda, spend as much time with his familia as he could, tuck Coco in and have his heart melted as they sang together, take his guitar, play a few sets as a lowly guitarist as Ernesto soaked up all the fame, wearily accept an invitation to a bar afterwards to celebrate, come home, apologize to a still-awake Imelda, fall asleep with her in his arms as though nothing else mattered, and repeat.
He couldn't take it anymore.
On one such night, Hector found himself in the same situation as usual; propping himself onto an elbow on the counter with a half-downed beer in his hand, watching through the corner of his eye as Ernesto praised their performance to high heaven and recounted the events of the night.
"-And did you see that wonderful chica in the red dress, amigo? She tracked your every movement! If you're not careful, Imelda might have some competition, eh?"
Hector's eyes widened at this; whether because of the mere notion that anyone other than Imelda could capture his heart as fully or out of fear for the poor woman who managed to anger Imelda, he never knew. Whatever the reason, he made his decision than and there.
"Listen, amigo. I'm sorry to do this, but I'm not sure I want to keep doing this. I'm away from home to much, and Coco needs her father there when Imelda is at work. Besides, I can barely distinguish one performance from another. I think it's time for me to hang up my guitar, so to speak."
Ernesto stopped dead in his tracks, and Hector was slightly unsettled by the shadow that covered his friend's face. The moment passed, and Hector was left reeling as Ernesto lurched forward and grabbed the lapel of his jacket, allowing Hector to catch a whiff of cheap cologne and booze.
"What? Hector, amigo, you can't! You've known me for years, you know I can't write anything for myself! I need your songs, I need your guitar, I.....I need you!"
Hector took a moment to regain himself, and although it pained him to see his friend look so lost, he couldn't deny it any longer. He had a duty, an obligation. To Imelda, to Coco, to himself.
He shook Ernesto off and looked him dead in the eye.
"Lo siento, mi amigo. Hate me if you want, but my mind is made up."
He stood, slapping a few dollars onto the counter and slinging his jacket onto his shoulder. If he hurried, he could get home at a decent hour. He would catch Imelda in her workshop and he would tell her the news. She would be shocked, but he could see her face softening and feel her soft kiss as he imagined her eventual acceptance. Before he could leave, however, he was stopped by Ernesto's hand gripping his shoulder tightly. He turned, steeling himself for more begging, but he was taken aback when he was met instead with Ernesto's usual suave face, extending a hand in submission.
"Oh, I could never hate you. If you must go, at least let me send you off with a bang. There's one last venue, two days from now. They've heard of you, and they'd love to have us play. What do you say, one last venue? One last night? One last toast?"
Hector turned his glance towards the door and the night life beyond, then back to Ernesto, who still had a hand extended. In a moment of decision, he took Ernesto's hand and shook it, smiling at his friend.
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As he predicted, when Hector opened to door, he immediately noticed the sliver of light streaming from his wife's workshop. He dropped the guitar and kicked off his shoes, plodding along the floor until he stopped in front of the door. He could hear softly playing music from inside, probably from the record player that his wife had refused to leave at the thrift store three months ago. He looked to his right, noticing the way the light from the workshop fell on the picture of their family.
Hector loved that picture.
It had been Imelda's idea, back when they had visited Mexico after Coco's third birthday. They had been wearing traditional Mexican garb, Hector in a mariachi outfit that Imelda had found, Imelda in a rich purple dress and Coco on her lap, looking quizzically at the camera as her father placed a hand on her shoulder. In his other hand, he held his guitar, a surprise gift from Imelda at that point, which she had managed to sneak to Mexico for him without his knowing. He had been overjoyed, but he had reminded her that she was the greatest treasure he had ever received.
Hector turned from the picture-which rested on a basket of marigold blooms-and tip-toed over to the workshop's door. He peaked in, and he could see her work. She was currently embroidering a gorgeous flower pattern onto a pair of floral heels, work she had brought home from her family's shoe making business, one of the only left in New York City. She worked days with her brothers Oscar and Philippe, and she only brought her work home when it required special attention. This pair was for a wedding, and Imelda had decided to add a special touch to the bride's shoes. Hector smiled slightly as he saw her open her mouth, letting the words of the song that was currently playing fall out of her lips.
Hector loved her voice more than anything.
He waited until the song changed to open the door, although he earned nothing more than a swift glance up and a bemused,
Hector chuckled and moved to take a seat behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and kissing her neck as she pulled the needle through the leather of the heel with expert precision.
"Well, mi amor, I got out sooner than usual."
"I told Ernesto I didn't want to continue running all over the city anymore. He'll have to find a new partner."
At this, Imelda put her work down and turned in his arms to face him, the look of dull surprise he had been expecting gracing her features.
He smiled, and kissed her softly.
"It's like you always say, mi amor. Family is more important."
Imelda smiled and kissed him back, eyes closed in graceful bliss. She was clearly glad to hear him say that.
Hector broke away first, the first notes of the next song giving him an idea. He stood, walking idly in front of Imelda, smirking. At her inquisitive eyebrow quirk, he gave a small bow and extended a hand.
"Care to dance, mi Corazon?"
Imelda rolled her eyes, but even Hector couldn't ignore the smile that danced on the corners of her mouth. She put the shoes and needle down, wiping her hands on her light blue nightdress and accepting his hand. He pulled her up and close, pulling his best Ernesto impression and reveling in the sensation of her laugh. The first words of the song danced in the air as the pair began to move, expertly, gracefully, happily.
They both knew this song, but more importantly, they knew each other. Imelda danced with precision and grace, while Hector danced with passion and orderly abandon. Her fire matched his beat, and his movements countered her grace perfectly. They had met like this, dancing. Dancing to this song. Dancing and singing and adoring, all before the last notes of the song had finished resonating. Imelda's voice carried over the voice of the record, and Hector felt himself being swept away in the beat of the music and the richness of her voice.
"Que aunque la vida me cueste, Llorona, no dejare de quererte....."
Hector joined her, wiling the meaning of the word to reach her. He danced for her, he sang for her, he played for her.
Their dancing intensified, the sound of their feet barely touching the ground in their flurry creating the perfect rhythm. The song ended in a flourish, but the dancing took longer. They slowed, but they did not stop. The passionate tango that they had been ensnared in before subdued into a slow waltz, Hector resting his forehead on Imelda's, both breathing heavily and feeling exactly as they had that first night. Imelda raised her eyes to meet Hector's, and was met with nothing but love and tenderness in his big, brown eyes.
The question she asked next did not need to be asked, but the words found their way past her lips before she could stop them.
"Do you love me, Hector?"
"Incluso si me cuesta la vida, mi amor. Even if it costs me my life."
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All too soon, Hector's last performance with Ernesto came. Imelda had been reluctant to let him go, but she digressed once she remembered that after tonight, he would be all hers. No more distractions.
Hector couldn't keep his mind off of her. All night, he imagined her waiting for him when he came home, wondering how it went and bringing him somewhere quiet where they could revel in the sensation of being in each other's arms. Hector played his best show yet, the passion and love he felt for his family pouring into every note.
There was hardly a dry eye in the crowd after he finished.
Ernesto himself seemed moved by the performance, but Hector could see the soft edge of regret in his posture, in his smile. Hector almost felt sorry for leaving their partnership, but he had made a promise.
And Hector Rivera never breaks his promises.
That night, Ernesto had something special planned for their after party. He brought them to a new bar-a classy one-albeit outside of the normally posh ones they went to in the center of the city. He ordered rounds of Hector's favorite cocktails, and kept his amigo busy with stories of their youth and first days together. Hector tried to be a good companion for his friend-after all, this was their last night performing together-but his thought kept turning to his family. To Coco, to Imelda.
It was late when he finally decided it was time to go, and he warmly thanked Ernesto for his hospitality and understanding before collecting his coat and guitar case. He was about to leave when he felt Ernesto's hand on his shoulder, and turned to see his friend holding out one last drink.
"Well, if you must go, I'm sending you off with a toast."
Hector glanced at the door once more. He already felt a little woozy, but he figured one last drink wouldn't hurt. He took the glass and raised it with his amigo.
"To our friendship! I would move heaven and earth for you, mi amigo."
Both men raised their glasses, and Hector drank deeply, glad that his friend harbored no ill will. Ernesto finished his off and patted Hector on the back, taking his guitar case from him.
"Here amigo, let me walk you to the subway. It's the least I can do."
Hector nodded and smiled, letting his friend lead him out the door and down the street, Ernesto filling the silence with jokes and stories.
They got about three blocks away before the pain started.
It began small, a seed of discomfort growing from his abdomen outwards. Ernesto led him down an abandoned street, looking sympathetically at his friend's discomfort. Hector tried to brush it off, to smile, but the pain began to spread.
He cried out as his chest felt like it was seizing, and his heart began to seemingly burst from his chest.
Dios, what was wrong with him?
Ernesto rubbed circles into his back and offered explanations of alcohol poisoning as a reason for his discomfort, but Hector did not hear. He was to busy screaming as his lungs roared in protest, his stomach tuned itself inside out in pain and his heart ceased to work all together.
Pain overshadowed fear as his knees gave way and he fell face-first onto the pavement, his last coherent thought before he blacked out being of his wife, who was surely waiting for him, and his daughter, who was waiting for her Papa.
Hector felt himself slipping, and closed his eyes for the last time.
